Krampus inserted his arm deep into the sack, appeared to be searching. This went on for several minutes. Isabel could feel the tension rising in Jesse with each passing second.
“Krampus,” Jesse said, raising his voice. “It’s urgent.”
Krampus jerked his arm out, opened his eyes, stared at his empty hand, then let out a howl. “Damn Odin,” he hissed. “Damn the Valkyries. Where did they hide it?” He locked eyes on Jesse and growled. “You dare interrupt me?”
Jesse didn’t back down a step. “We need to go now. Get my daughter before it’s too—”
“It will wait,” Krampus said and waved him off. Isabel found herself surprised by his restraint, then saw his exhaustion.
“No,” Jesse pressed. “You don’t understand, the General will—”
“You are the one who does not understand. I must find Loki’s arrow. Without it there is no way to stop him. Baldr will kill us all.”
“Krampus, you have to—”
“No,” Krampus cried, climbing to his feet, his tail snapping back and forth. “It is not your place to tell me what I must do!”
Isabel pulled Jesse back. “Stop it, Jesse.”
Jesse jabbed a finger at Krampus. “My little girl’s in trouble and I aim to do something about it. Tell you what, you just sit here, then. Me, I’m gonna go take care of this mess.” He yanked his arm free from Isabel and marched over to a cardboard box where the cash and guns sat.
Krampus’s face clenched into a knot, his nostrils flared, his breath came in short, hot bursts. Isabel knew what was next, watched helpless as his lips peeled back, revealing his long canines. His eyes flew open, red and glowing. She started to warn Jesse, but Krampus was on him in three quick strides. Jesse must’ve heard something for he started to turn; as he did, Krampus grabbed him, one hand around his neck, the other holding the front of his jacket. Krampus lifted Jesse off his feet and slammed him into the wall. The entire structure shook. “You will go nowhere ’less I give you leave.”
Jesse gasped, forced the words out. “Fuck you. I’m not one of your slaves.” Jesse grabbed Krampus’s wrist, tried to twist free. Krampus threw him to the floor.
“Hold him,” Krampus commanded and the Shawnee were on him, grabbing Jesse before he could get to his feet. Jesse flailed, landed a blow to the side of Makwa’s face, then they had him pinned.
Krampus stomped over, towering above Jesse, a low growl coming from deep in his throat. Isabel knew Jesse had gone too far, knew Krampus would bite Jesse, would turn him.
“My patience is at an end,” Krampus snapped. He squatted, grabbed Jesse’s arm, held it taut. “You leave me no choice.” He grinned, once again revealing his canines.
“No!” Isabel shouted. “Krampus, stop it!”
Krampus ignored her, opened his mouth to bite Jesse.
Isabel rushed in, pushed herself between them.
Krampus looked as though he might beat her to death with his bare fist.
“You made an oath!” Isabel cried. “A blood oath!”
Krampus shoved her away, sending her tumbling across the floor into one of the pews. Isabel rolled back to her feet and cried out, “Does the word of the Yule Lord mean nothing? Then how are you any different than Santa Claus?”
Krampus leapt to his feet, glaring at Isabel, and she could see he weighed her death, could see it burning in his eyes. He lifted his face upward, toward the rafters, let out a howl, gritted his teeth, and just stood there with his eyes shut, his chest heaving. Slowly, his breathing steadied. His shoulders slumped. “Isabel . . . my little lion. Your heart is bold and your words are true.” He set eyes on Jesse. “You . . . should you ever dare to challenge me again . . . I will kill you.” His words held absolute finality; he let out a long breath. “I will honor my oath. Those men will die, and die badly. But all in due time, for first there are more pressing matters.” He turned and staggered back to the stove, stared down at the velvet sack.
“Bind him,” Krampus said over his shoulder. “See to it he does not run off. I cannot risk him escaping. He is too unpredictable.”
Makwa yanked Jesse around, shoved him hard against the floor, and put a knee in his back. He gestured toward several curtain rods leaning in the corner. Wipi hopped up, slid out his knife and cut the cords loose from the rods. Isabel intercepted him on his way back. “Give me those.” She snatched the cords away from Wipi. Wipi looked at Makwa and shrugged. Isabel came over to Makwa. “Stop being such a brute. Now, get on off him.”
Makwa scowled, said something in Shawnee, which Isabel knew to be unflattering, but he got off.
“Put your wrists out.”
Jesse reluctantly did as he was told.
Isabel bound his wrists gently but securely. Jesse wouldn’t look at her, just glared at Krampus the whole time.
Krampus took a seat next to the sack. He picked up one of the arrows, studied it. “Where are you hiding?”
SANTA CLAUS STOOD on the ledge and stared down at the wolves. The early-morning wind whipped his long beard. His breath steamed in the chill. One of the wolves looked up at him, then to her mate lying still on his side. She let out a whimper and pawed at her mate, but the mate didn’t move. She barked up at the white-bearded man. Santa’s face twitched but he did nothing but stare.
The man searched the sky, found no sign of the ravens, hadn’t heard them since yesterday morning. He knew what that must mean. The trail was cold; without the ravens Krampus could be anywhere, could be a thousand miles away. He was wasting his time here.
He heard a horn, far away, from the east. He turned toward it, pulled out his own horn, and blew. The sound echoed across the valley, a sound most mortal ears would miss, a sound that could carry halfway across the world.
A few minutes later he caught sight of a sleigh flying toward him over the far ridgeline. It was smaller than his Christmas sleigh, drawn by two goats, Tanngrisni and Tanngnost. The goats were true Yule goats, the last of their breed, last of his ties to another age.
“The past should stay in the past,” he growled. So much had I managed to forget. Now, Krampus returns to resurrect old ghosts. Santa looked heavenward. Baldr is dead, by all the gods, and he needs to stay dead. Baldr paid for his misdeeds, his arrogance, his deceit, paid with his life, his soul . . . paid a hundred times over. How much is enough? When will I be allowed to forget?
The sleigh floated down and came to a skidding stop on the rough road. Two elves hopped out, both armed with sword and pistol, dressed in woodland gear: thick jackets, britches, cloaks, and boots. They scanned the hills with keen eyes as they strolled up to Santa Claus—the top of their heads only reaching as high as his belt. They peered down the ravine at the two wolves.
“Is Freki dead?” Tahl, the younger of the two elves, asked.
“No,” Santa replied. “But will be soon I am afraid.”
“Can we do anything?”
“Not for Freki. He is too large to carry in the sleigh.”
“ ’Tis a shame.”
“Yes,” Santa agreed, “and Geri will not leave his side. Not even in death. Their fates are one.”
They watched Geri pace round her mate. She licked his fur and again looked to the white-bearded man. She barked, then her bark turned into a whine.
“We can’t just leave them like this,” Tahl said. “There has to be something we can do.”
“It is sad, but they are of the past and like all the ancient ones, their time is done.” Santa turned, mounted the sleigh. The older elf followed, but the younger one stayed, watching the doomed creatures.